


To follow the road that leads away from everything

by AnnaofAza



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (sorry y'all), Angst, Keith and Shiro definitely have PTSD and need therapy, M/M, Past Curtis/Shiro (Voltron), Pining, Post-Canon, Season 08 Compliant, inspired by THAT scene where Jess comes to visit Rory at Yale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21512794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: Keith barely has time to rub the sleep out of his eyes. But it’s real: Shiro, glasses askew and hair a mess and stubble a shadow on his chin. Shiro, with his jacket unzipped and a bag slung over his shoulder. Shiro, standing there like a ghost.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 124





	To follow the road that leads away from everything

It’s the middle of the night when someone knocks on his door.

Keith considers ignoring it, but the lateness of the hour makes him suspicious. A burglar or someone higher-level would break in outright. It could be one of the paladins, but they’d message him first. Or Kolivan, who usually drops in without a warning—a habit from the old _we can’t let ourselves be tracked for one tick or there will be serious consequences_ days—but he’s supposed to be in Daibazaal with Krolia, trying to take the crumbling foundation in hand.

He sighs; so much for his vacation. Lance had tried to cajole him to another planet with hot springs, while Matt had a half-baked idea of inter-planetary bar-hopping, but Keith had wanted—no offense—to spend it alone. You did after several years of battling in space, fearing for your life, and rounds and rounds of hours-long meetings that could be comms messages, want some quiet once in a while.

With an impatient jab of his finger, Keith activates the screen just beside his bed. He’d fought Pidge’s “upgrades” to his shack tooth and nail, but had been outvoted by the Blades, his mom, and the paladins. _You need more communication than some radio from the last few centuries. A necessary security measure, especially since you’re far from the Garrison and civilization. Have something from this century other than indoor plumbing_ —which Keith didn’t appreciate; being in the desert without running water was something even he knew was incredibly stupid. 

“All right,” he says out loud, then peers at the feed. Nothing so far on the back porch, the windows, the front—

Keith barely has time to rub the sleep out of his eyes. But it’s real: Shiro, glasses askew and hair a mess and stubble a shadow on his chin. Shiro, with his jacket unzipped and a bag slung over his shoulder. Shiro, standing there like a ghost.

That’s the only reason—he tells himself—why he swings his legs over the bed and pulls on his boots and opens the door to a determined “Come with me.”

Keith’s eyes widen. “What?”

“Come with me,” Shiro repeats.

“I don’t understand.” Keith remains in the doorway. He doesn’t think to step aside to let Shiro in. “What are you talking about? You haven’t— _we_ haven’t…” Called. Spoken. _Interacted_. 

Because it’s true; the sudden coldness had been as swift and painful as a sword blow. They were close, then not, and he didn’t know what happened or what he did. Maybe Haggar hadn’t succeeded in killing Shiro or him, but she’d broken something within them.

Remembering this makes him fold his arms across his chest. “What do you want?” he repeats.

“To come with me.” Shiro sounds impatient now, as if it’s an easy vocabulary term Keith should know. But he’s never been truly impatient, not really, and this new, sharper Shiro catches Keith off-balance. It reminds him of the clone, of stiff shoulders and harsh orders, of a white-hot blade cutting into his cheek. “I left Curtis.”

Keith gapes. He won’t lie; he had dreamed about this—Shiro waking up and _seeing_ —but there’s no way this is real. “What?”

Shiro plows forward, unheeding and impatient: “I want— _need_ to go. And I want to go with you. I have Atlas right here. You’re stationed on Earth; you have no missions. You can pack up, you’re ready, I’m ready!” There’s something desperate, almost feverish in Shiro’s eyes. “You can depend on me! I know you couldn’t before, but you can now! You _can_.”

 _Following him across the universe. I’ll never give up on you. Sitting alone on his lion for what could have been his last day on Earth. Curtis and Shiro kissing in the sunset._ “Shiro—”

“And I’m sorry, it wasn’t right for the beginning, Curtis isn’t happy and I could never make him happy and he couldn’t—”

 _Just let go, Keith!_ “Shiro,” he tries, as Shiro steps forward, but almost mechanically, Keith moves, blocking the doorway. “Shiro…” 

“Let’s get out of here. Not just—out of this room, or the canyon, but somewhere else. Not here or Earth or any planet we’ve been to; we can go explore the universe together, like we always wanted. I know you.”

“No,” Keith hears himself say. He feels wrung out, empty, he can’t _do_ this. “You don’t. Not anymore.”

Shiro opens his mouth, closes it. “Keith…”

“It’s easy for you to do this, isn’t it?” Keith asks, trying not to let emotion slip into his voice. Kolivan had been right, all those years ago; feeling had clouded his judgment. He couldn’t save Regris. Couldn’t save Allura. Couldn’t save Shiro, or himself. “It’s easy to come back because you think I—” His throat closes, and he shakes his head. “I can’t.”

“Please,” Shiro breathes, and Keith sees him clearly for the first time in a long while: ready to die young and be remembered as bright as a star, but once that was taken out of the equation—with war, with a miracle, with a marriage to someone he’d only known for a few months—left floundering. He can see Atlas glowing in the distance, Shiro’s arms trembling, the almost animalistic wildness in his eyes.

And Keith can see himself, too, reflected in Shiro’s eyes: hair loose, untied boots, standing in the old shack, alone.

Keith shakes his head, stepping backward and pulling the door closer like a shield. “No,” he whispers.

Keith can see Shiro’s struck dumb. “I…are you with someone?”

“No,” he repeats, numbly. “No. Shiro, it’s too late.”

Before Keith can change his mind, he shuts the door, but it’s too late: he’s sobbing into his hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Pablo Neruda's "Almost out of the Sky," specifically these lines:  
>  _Oh to follow the road that leads away from everything,  
>  without anguish, death, winter waiting along it..._  
> 


End file.
